Samuel Potter: The Hogwarts Years
by KingdomHeartsNerd
Summary: We all know the story of how Harry Potter destroyed the Dark Lord; but what about Sam Potter? Harry Potter's younger twin brother who played a vital role in the destruction of Voldemort? Join Harry and Sam as they embark on the adventure of a lifetime, making friends and enemies... and maybe... a little romance?
1. Chapter 1

**Samuel Potter**

**The Hogwarts Years**

**By KingdomHeartsNerd**

* * *

**Disclaimer:** _Harry Potter, all related concepts and anything you recognise do not belong to me, I am merely borrowing them to bring you this story - and for my own personal enjoyment - as they actually belong to the awesomeness that is J.K. Rowling. Any OC's and things you do not recognise, however, are copyrighted to me, KingdomHeartsNerd._

**Rating:** _K_

**Pairings:** _N/A_

**Genre:** _Adventure/Friendship/Family/Drama_

**Warnings:** _Please do not flame me for anything. I really do not care what the flamers have to say and if you don't like this story, then why in the name of Merlin's saggy left butt cheek are you reading it? Go and do something else instead of wasting the precious time of both of us._

**Summary: **_We all know the story of how Harry Potter destroyed the Dark Lord; but what about Sam Potter? Harry Potter's younger twin brother who played a vital role in the destruction of Voldemort? Join Harry and Sam as they embark on the adventure of a lifetime, making friends and enemies... and maybe... a little romance?_

**Dedicated To: **_Everyone who has reviewed - if I listed you all, like I was doing, the list would eventually be longer than the chapter, so I'll do it this way. Your reviews mean the world to me and I hope that you all remain loyal reviewers as this story continues._

**Shout Outs: **_Shout outs to everyone who favourited this story - if I thanked you all the list would be huge, so I'll do it this way._

**Thank You:** _Thank you to xXxKaraBeckerCutterxXx for believing I could do this. If you like this story, show her some love and review this story and either (or all) of her Harry Potter Stories: The Dark Lord's Downfall and the Muggleborn Witches Series._

* * *

**Chapter I**

* * *

**November 1st, 1980 **

The early morning of Tuesday the first of November 1981 was quiet; wind blew through the trees on the quiet lane, a tabby cat leaped off of the wall, scurried across the road and slinked down the path, it's eyes reflected by the moon; one of the Muggles - non-magic folk - who were returning from a night of candy collecting on Halloween, leaned down and stroked the cat, who purred; the muggle, a chubby boy who looked to be no more than ten, placed a piece of candy down in front of the cat, hugged the cat, and then trotted off, blissfully unaware of anything odd, extraodrinary or strange that was going on.

None of the Muggles could possibly have known of the strange events that would be occuring, and, as the last of the Muggles disappeared inside their house, the cat grabbed the piece of candy in its mouth, streaked down the lane, leaped over the fence and settled itself on the bin in the park.

As the chubby boy drifted off into an uneasy, candy filled sleep, the cat on the bin outside showed no signs of sleepiness. It was sitting as still as a statue, it's eyes fixed unblinkingly on the far corner of the park. It didn't so much as quiver when a car door slammed in the next street, nor when two owls swooped overhead. In fact, it was nearly midnight when the cat moved at all.

The street fell deathly quiet for a moment, and then, as if like magic, a man appeared on the corner the cat had been watching, appeared so suddenly and silently you'd have thought he'd just popped out of the ground. The cat's tail twitched and its eyes narrowed.

Nothing like this man had ever been seen in the lane, or the park for that matter. He was tall, thin and very old, judging by the silver of his hair and beard, which were both long enough to tuck into his belt. He was wearing long robes, a purple cloak which swept the ground and high-heeled, buckled boots. His blue eyes were light, bright and sparkling behind half-moon spectacles and his nose was very long and crooked, as though it had been broken at least twice. This man's name was Albus Dumbledore.

Albus Dumbledore didn't seem to realise that he had just arrived in a street where everything from his name to his boots were unwelcome, or if he did realise it, he certainly didn't care.

Instead, he was busy rummaging in his cloak, looking for something. But he did seem to realise he was being watched, because he looked up suddenly at the cat, which was still staring at him from the other end of the park. For some reason, the sight of the cat seemed to amuse him. He chuckled and muttered, "I should have known."

He had found what he was looking for inside his pocket. It seemed to be a silver cigarette lighter. He flicked it open, held it up in the air and clicked it. The nearest street lamp went out with a little pop. He clicked it again – the next lamp flickered into darkness. Twelve times he clicked the Put-Outer, until the only lights left in the whole street were two tiny pinpricks in the distance, which were the eyes of the cat watching him. If anyone looked out of their window now, even beady-eyed Mrs Tobiasonford of Number 75, which was directly opposite the park, they wouldn't be able to see anything that was happening down on the pavement. Dumbledore slipped the Put-Outer back inside his cloak and set off down the park, where he sat down on the wall behind the bin on which the cat resided. He didn't look at it, but after a moment he spoke to it.

"Fancy seeing you here, Professor McGonagall."

He turned to smile at the tabby, but it was gone. Instead he was smiling at a rather severe-looking woman who was wearing square glasses exactly the shape the cat had had around its eyes and was now holding the piece of candy in her hand. She, too, was wearing a cloak, an emerald one. Her black hair was drawn into a tight bun. She looked distinctly ruffled.

"How did you know it was me?" she asked.

"My dear Professor, I've never seen a cat sit so stiffly."

"You'd be stiff too if you'd been sitting on a brick wall all day," said Professor McGonagall, unwrapping the candy.

"All day? When you could have been celebrating? I must have passed a dozen feasts and parties on my way here."

Professor McGonagall sniffed angrily.

"Oh, yes, everyone's celebrating, all right," she said impatiently. "You'd think they'd be a bit more careful, but no – even the Muggles have noticed something's going on. It was on their news." She jerked her head back towards the dark living-room window of Number 75. "I heard it earlier. Flocks of owls ... shooting stars down in Kent – I'll bet that was Dedalus Diggle. He never had much sense."

"You can't blame them," Dumbledore said gently. "We've had precious little to celebrate for eleven years."

"I know that," said Professor McGonagall irritably. "But that's no reason to lose our heads. People are being downright careless, out on the streets in broad daylight, not even dressed in Muggle clothes, swapping rumours. Even Filius was out! I'll be having words with him tomorrow!"

She threw a sharp, sideways glance at Dumbledore, as though hoping he would tell her something, but he didn't, so she went on: "A fine thing it would be if, on the very day You-Know-Who seems to have disappeared at last, the Muggles have found out about us all. I suppose he really has gone, Dumbledore?"

"It certainly seems so," said Dumbledore. "We have much to be thankful for. Would you care for a sherbet lemon?"

"A what?"

"A sherbet lemon. They're a kind of muggle sweet I'm rather fond of."

"No, thank you, I have my own" said Professor McGonagall coldly, popping her candy into her mouth and looking at Dumbledore as though she didn't think this was the moment for sherbet lemons. "As I say, even if You-Know-Who has gone – "

"My dear professor, surely a sensible person like yourself can call him by his name. All this 'You-Know-Who' nonsense – for eleven years I have been trying to persuade people to call him by his proper name: Voldemort."

Professor McGonagall flinched, but Dumbledore, who was unstacking two sherbet lemons, didn't seem to notice. "It all gets so confusing if we keep saying 'You-Know-Who'. I have never been frightened of saying Voldemort's name."

"I know you haven't," said Professor McGonagall, sounding half-exasperated, half-admiring. "But you're different. Everyone knows you're the only one You-Know – oh, all right, Voldemort – was frightened of."

"You flatter me," said Dumbledore calmly. "Voldemort had powers I will never have."

"Only because you're too – well – noble to use them."

"It's lucky it's dark. I haven't blushed this much since Madam Pomfrey told me she liked my new earmuffs."

Professor McGonagall shot a sharp look at Dumbledore and said, "The owls are nothing to the rumours that are flying around. You know what everyone's saying? About why he's disappeared? About what finally stopped him?"

It seemed that Professor McGonagall had reached the point she was most anxious to discuss, the real reason she had been waiting on a cold hard wall all day, for neither as a cat nor as a woman had she fixed Dumbledore with such a piercing stare as she did now.

It was plain that whatever 'everyone' was saying, she was not going to believe it until Dumbledore told her it was true. Dumbledore, however, was choosing another sherbet lemon and did not answer.

"What they're saying," she pressed on, "is that last night Voldemort turned up at Godric's Hollow. He went to find the Potters. The rumour is that Lily and James Potter are – are – that they're – dead."

"That, thankfully, is not true. It would have been were it not for Sirius's quick actions; he was able to send a Patronus to Godric's Hollow and was able to warn them. They were able to hold off Voldemort long enough - though he did immobilise them - before he was defeated."

Professor McGonagall's voice trembled as she went on. "That's not all. They're saying he tried to kill the Potters' son, Harry. But – he couldn't. He couldn't kill that little boy. No one knows why, or how, but they're saying that when he couldn't kill Harry Potter, Voldemort's power somehow broke – and that's why he's gone."

Dumbledore nodded glumly.

"It's – it's true?" faltered Professor McGonagall. "After all he's done ... all the people he's killed ... he couldn't kill a little boy? It's just astounding ... of all the things to stop him ... but how in the name of heaven did Harry survive?"

"We can only guess," said Dumbledore. "We may never know. The only thing we know - from the testimony of Lily and James - is that Voldemort, after immobilising them, attacked Harry; he was defeated and they were able to take Harry and the boys to Potter Manor before Godric's Hollow exploded. James's mother was there to meet them and deal with her grandchildren while Lily and James informed the Minister of Sirius's true loyalties and his actions."

Professor McGonagall pulled out a lace handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes under her spectacles; whether the tears were from joy at Voldemort's defeat or from sadness at the attack on the Potters, Dumbledore couldn't tell. Dumbledore gave a great sniff as he took a golden watch from his pocket and examined it. It was a very odd watch. It had twelve hands but no numbers; instead, little planets were moving around the edge. It must have made sense to Dumbledore, though, because he put it back in his pocket and said "I suppose it was Hagrid who told you I'd be here, by the way?"

"Yes," said Professor McGonagall. "And I don't suppose you're going to tell me why you're here, of all places?"

"I'm just on my way to visit the Potters now, as it happens - I thought meeting here would be easier - no disturbances, you see? - and I was wondering if you wanted to come along?"

"No," said Professor McGonagall. "No. I had best return to the school and tell the staff what has happened."

"I shall see you soon, I expect, Professor McGonagall," said Dumbledore, nodding to her. Professor McGonagall blew her nose in reply.

Dumbledore turned and walked back down the park. On the corner of the park he stopped and took out the silver Put-Outer. He clicked it once and twelve balls of light sped back to their street lamps so that the lane glowed suddenly orange and he could make out a tabby cat slinking around the corner at the other end of the street.

He turned on his heel and with a swish of his cloak he was gone.

A breeze ruffled the neat hedges of the lane, which lay silent and tidy under the inky sky, the very last place you would expect astonishing things to happen.

Meanwhile, at Potter Manor, Harry Potter rolled over inside his blankets without waking up. One small hand closed on the teddy bear beside him and he slept on, not knowing he was special, not knowing he was famous, not knowing he would be woken in a few hours' time by his mother as she woke him for his breakfast, nor that he would spend the next few weeks having his twin pour his breakfast over him... He couldn't know that at this very moment, people meeting in secret all over the country were raising their glasses and saying in hushed voices: "To Harry Potter – the boy who lived!"

* * *

_Reviews are like Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans. They come in different flavours. Some you like, some you don't, but you eat them anyway. Review please._


	2. Chapter 2

**Samuel Potter**

**The Hogwarts Years**

**By KingdomHeartsNerd**

* * *

**Disclaimer:** _Harry Potter, all related concepts and anything you recognise do not belong to me, I am merely borrowing them to bring you this story - and for my own personal enjoyment - as they actually belong to the awesomeness that is J.K. Rowling. Any OC's and things you do not recognise, however, are copyrighted to me, KingdomHeartsNerd._

**Rating:** _K_

**Pairings:** _N/A_

**Genre:** _Adventure/Friendship/Family/Drama_

**Warnings:** _Please do not flame me for anything. I really do not care what the flamers have to say and if you don't like this story, then why in the name of Merlin's saggy left butt cheek are you reading it? Go and do something else instead of wasting the precious time of both of us._

**Summary: **_We all know the story of how Harry Potter destroyed the Dark Lord; but what about Sam Potter? Harry Potter's younger twin brother who played a vital role in the destruction of Voldemort? Join Harry and Sam as they embark on the adventure of a lifetime, making friends and enemies... and maybe... a little romance?_

**Dedicated To: **_Everyone who has reviewed - if I listed you all, like I was doing, the list would eventually be longer than the chapter, so I'll do it this way. Your reviews mean the world to me and I hope that you all remain loyal reviewers as this story continues._

**Shout Outs: **_Shout outs to everyone who favourited this story - if I thanked you all the list would be huge, so I'll do it this way._

**Thank You:** _Thank you to xXxKaraBeckerCutterxXx for believing I could do this. If you like this story, show her some love and review this story and either (or all) of her Harry Potter Stories: The Dark Lord's Downfall and the Muggleborn Witches Series._

* * *

**Chapter II**

* * *

**August 1st, 1991**

Samuel Potter woke with a start.

The sunlight was pouring in from outside his bedroom window and he could vaguely hear the morning call of the blackbirds that roosted in the trees surrounding his home. It was a clear sign that storm had blown itself out, when this had happened, he had no idea, but he was glad that it had, for he had never been one for thunderstorms.

Sitting up slowly, Sam blinked, moved his blonde hair from his face, and looked around his bedroom; everything had its rightful place in his bedroom, and everything was in their correct place. _Thank Merlin_; he thought tiredly, _I really do not need mum shouting at me for making another mess! That and I don't want to clean my bedroom today._

No, today was different to any other day; it was not a day of cleaning, for today was the day that he and his twin brother, Harry, visited Diagon Alley to shop for their school supplies. Yesterday, before the thunderstorm had broken out, their Hogwarts letters had arrived from Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It had arrived because that had been their eleventh birthday.

They had been waiting ten years for these letters, and now the time was finally arriving for them to attend the finest Wizarding School in the whole of the United Kingdom.

Sam smiled. This was happening... it was truly happening... in a few weeks he would be boarding the Hogwarts Express, the same train that his parents had boarded when they were his age, and he would be doing this for the next seven years.

_I can't wait! _He thought happily, before looking down at his rotund stomach as it grumbled. "Food..." he muttered, rolling out of bed and waddling towards the door of his bedroom.

Downstairs in the kitchen, sat the rest of the Potter family: Harry Potter, Sam's twin brother, was just biting into the second piece of toast when his brother waddled into the room through the doorway leading to the stairs.

"Good morning, Sam," beamed his mother, Lily.

"Morning, mum," Sam answered, sliding into a seat beside his younger siblings, nine year old Edward and eight year old Rose, before tucking in to a plate of eggs and bacon. His stomach gave a rumble at the intoxicating smells and he started to fork them heavily into his mouth.

Harry grimaced at his brother; to him, Sam did not eat food, he inhaled it.

"Where are your manners?" Harry asked.

"I left them upstairs!" snapped Sam, spraying the table in front of him with bits of yolk and bacon rinds.

Harry glared while Lily scolded Sam for his poor table manners.

* * *

"Sam, get down here!" James Potter shouted upstairs, he and the rest of the family - namely Harry, Edward and nine year old Rose Potter, who was commonly known as Rosie - were in the sitting room waiting for the youngest twin to move his arse. They were ready to go to Diagon Alley. "If you're not down here within the next five minutes then we are leaving you here! You can go to Hogwarts next year!"

There was crash and next second, Sam Potter was ambling down the stairs, trying his best to button up his skin-tight navy blue jeans.

_"They... won't... do... up!"_ he panted, attempting to pull the button and the hole together; there were at least three inches between the button and the hole.

"Don't be silly, Sam, they are brand new!" said James. "You only had them last week!"

Sam shook his head and tried again, his face turning beet red in the effort it took to suck in his abnormally large gut. He audibly exhaled and leaned over, panting heavily with his hands on his kness, as his jeans pooled around his ankles. "What am I going to do?"

"That's a good question," agreed Lily, "better question to ask would be: What have I done to put on so much weight? Have you been sneaking snacks between meals again?"

"No!" said Sam quickly... a little too quickly.

Lily's eyes narrowed. "Samuel Potter!"

Sam gulped; he knew that he was in trouble when his mother used his full name. Sucking in his gut, Sam tried again to do up his pants. "Mum..." he whined, "help!"

"One day," said Lily, waving her wand and enlarging the pants, "you will learn that too much of a good thing is bad for you!"

"But chocolate is so good!" whined Sam.

"And bad for you!"

Sam heaved a sigh and waddled into the sitting room; he stood beside his brothers and waited, patiently, for his parents to fire up the floo network. They were travelling to the Leaky Cauldron and then onwards to Diagon Alley.

"Where will we be going first?" Harry asked.

James looked around at the eldest of the twins. "You and Sam will be going to get your wands," he answered, "while your mother, Edward, Rosie and I will go and collect your books from Flourish and Blotts. You will then meet us at Madam Malkins and we will get you sorted for robes!"

"Can I get ice cream?" asked Sam.

"No," said Lily, "I think you have had enough sweets! You can barely do up your pants by yourself! If I find out that you have gone for ice cream I will ground you until the day you go to Hogwarts, do I make myself clear?"

Sam nodded, staring wide-eyed at his mother. "Crystal!"

"Good. Now, Sam, you and Harry go ahead with your father," Lily motioned for them to get into the fireplace. "I will follow with Edward and Rosie!"

* * *

The Leaky Cauldron was a tiny, grubby-looking pub situated in a dense part of Muggle London, only it was magically protected so that Muggle's couldn't mistake it as a part of their world and stumble into another. It was also the gateway between one world, where Magic was that of dreams and another, where magic was that of reality.

"Sam, do not wander off," James said, gripping his son's arm and dragging him back to the fireplace. Ever since he was a child, Sam always had the tendency to wander off. "Your mother will be here -" he cut off as the flames within the fire blazed green and his wife stepped out, "- soon!"

Lily eyed her husband's hand on her sons arm and shook her head. "One day, Sam, you are going to walk away and we are not going to realize, then where will you be?"

Sam heaved another heavy sigh... why did it seem that his parents treated him like a child? _'I'm not a child!'_ he wanted to yell. _'Why don't you treat Harry like this?' _but it was more to do with the fact that Harry was the _'good boy' _and never did anything that was against his parents rules. "Suck up!" Sam often called him, when his parents were listening; Harry usually called him "Roly" in reply: "Roly" was the shortened form of "Roly-Poly" and was taking a jib at Sam's weight.

To say that he and Harry weren't close brothers would have been an understatement... they were anything but close... more like distant relatives than twin brothers. They did, however, care for each other; they acknowledged they were brothers and had, for a while, played together in the grounds of Potter Manor. Then they'd grown up and Harry's position as _'The Boy Who Lived'_ had pulled them apart.

Shaking himself free of his thoughts, Sam followed his mother across the pub's floor and out into the mini courtyard and stared at the brick wall that blocked their path. Now, to any decent person, like a Muggleborn witch or wizard, this may have seemed like a dead end, but to a witch or wizard that had grown up around magic, this was nothing short of an adventure.

"Come on, Mum!" cheered Edward, who had never been to Diagon Alley before, "I want to see it!"

Lily smiled at her youngest son, took out her wand - which was ten and quarter inches long, swishy, and made of willow - and tapped the required bricks. Instantly, before their very eyes, the wall started to move and open up onto the cobbled stone street of Diagon Alley.

The sun shone brightly on a stack of cauldrons outside the nearest shop. _Cauldrons - All Sizes - Copper, Brass, Pewter, Silver - Self-Stirring - Collapsible_, said a sign hanging over them.

"Mum," said Harry, "don't we need one of them?"

"Later," said Lily. "Like your father has said, you and Sam are to go and get your wands, no dawdling! We will get the rest of your things. Now, off you go!"

Sam and Harry exchanged looks; they really didn't want to spend the entire morning together as they rarely enjoyed spending a mere five minutes in one another's presence, but neither were stupid enough to argue with their mother - she could be very scary when angry - and that was why, five minutes later, the twins were hurrying through the crowd of shoppers towards Ollivanders.

* * *

_Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC _read the sign above the narrow and shabby looking shop.

Harry glanced at Sam, shrugged and pushed open the door. A tinkling bell rang somewhere in the depths of the shop as they stepped inside; it was a tiny place, empty except for a single spindly chair near the door. Sam instantly claimed it, while Harry wandered closer to the front counter, looking around in amazement. He had heard many stories of Ollivander, and now he was going to see if they were true.

He really was a curious child.

"Good afternoon," said a soft voice. Harry jumped and then whipped around at the sound of an almighty crash. There, sitting amongst the wooden splinters of the spindly stool, looking utterly bewildered, was Sam. Harry had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing out loud.

An old man was standing before them, his wide, pale eyes shining like moons through the gloom of the shop.

"Hello," said Harry awkwardly.

"Uh... hi," said Sam as he got to his feet. "Um..."

"Never mind that, child," said Ollivander, waving his wand and repairing the stool in an instant.

Sam grinned, he couldn't wait to get his wand so that he could do magic of his own.

"Yes," said the man. "Yes, yes, I thought I'd be seeing the two of you soon. Harry and Samuel Potter, correct?" the two boys nodded in confusion. "Yes, I remember both your parents well. Your mother opted for a ten and quarter inch long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for Charm work. Your father on the other hand, preferred a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more powerful and excellent for Transfiguration."

Ollivander nodded, before smiling, "Well, I say your father 'favoured' it - it's really the wand that chooses the wizard, rather than the other way around!"

Sam frowned; what did that mean?

"Never mind... shall we?" Ollivander had magically pulled a tape measure out of thin air. "Which is your wand arm?"

Harry hesitated, he didn't know who Ollivander was talking to, but being the eldest he took the opportunity to go first.

"Right..." he answered, elevating it out in front of him.

Ollivander nodded and started to measure Harry from shoulder to finger, wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit, round his waist and then around his head. As he measured, he said, "Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are of the same core; just as no two unicorns or dragons or phoenixes are quite the same. And, of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard's wand."

Harry suddenly realized that the tape measure, which was measuring between his nostrils, was doing this on its own. Mr Ollivander was flitting around the shelves, taking down boxes. "That will do," he said, and the tape measure crumpled into a heap on the floor.

"Right then. Try this one. Beechwood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. Just take it and give it a wave."

Harry took the wand and waved it around a bit, but Mr Ollivander took it out of his hand almost at once.

"Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy. Try -"

Harry tried - but he had hardly raised it when it, too, was snatched back.

"No, no - here, ebony and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches, springy. Go on, go on try it out."

Harry tried. And tried. He had no idea what Mr Ollivander was waiting for. The pile of tried wands was mounting higher and higher on the desk chair, but the more wands Mr Ollivander pulled from the shelves, the happier he seemed to become. Harry shared a look with Sam, who shrugged; it seemed that all the stories they had been told about Mr Ollivander were surely true. He truly was crazy.

"Tricky customer, eh? Not to worry, we'll find the perfect match here somewhere - I wonder, now - yes, why not - unusual combination - holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple."

Harry took the wand. He felt a sudden warmth in his fingers.

He raised the wand above his head, brought it swishing down through the dusty air and a stream of red and gold sparks shot from the end like a firework, throwing dancing spots of light on the walls.

Mr Ollivander cried, "Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good. Well, well, well... how curious... how very curious..."

He put Harry's wand back into its box and wrapped it in brown paper, still muttering, "Curious... curious..."

"Sorry," said Harry, "but what's curious?"

This question too, was something Sam wanted to know... what was so interesting about his brother?

Ollivander fixed Harry with a pale stare. "I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr Potter. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather - just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother - why, its brother terrorized the entire Wizarding world ten years ago! That scar -" he pointed at the scar visible upon Harry's forehead. "Is not any ordinary scar, Mr Potter, it is the reminder of what happened all those years ago..."

Sam gave an audible gulp. He had heard stories about the scar his brother sported... but he didn't believe them for a second. Well, think about it, why would a powerful dark wizard want to attack an infant? More importantly, why would a powerful dark wizard want to attack Harry? Harry was... well... just Harry! There was nothing special about him!

"Yes, thirteen and a half inches. Yew. Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember... I think we must expect great things from you, Mr Potter... After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things - terrible, yes, but great."

Sam frowned and grunted in annoyance; he was so used to getting the attention, that he did not like it when his brother stole the spotlight.

Ollivander blinked and turned in Sam's direction. "Right, of course, right handed, Mr Potter?"

Sam nodded, held out his hand, and the process started again.

* * *

Ten minutes and three triple scooped fudge ice-cream sundaes later, Harry and Sam arrived outside Madam Malkin's Robes for All occasions.

Pushing open the door, they caught sight of their parents and spotted Madam Malkin trying to squeeze a boy - who was blonde, chubby and red faced with embarrasment and whom Sam recognised as Neville Longbottom - into robes that were obviously several sizes to small; his formidable looking grandmother - a woman dressed in green with a large vulture hat - clucked nearby. A blonde woman who's face looked identical to her son's was talking to Madame Malkin's assistant and her husband was stood near her.

As Harry and Sam took a seat beside their parents and younger siblings, Sam heaved in his gut as his jeans started to feel as snug as they had back home, but he didn't dare say a word to his mother; she would have his head if she knew that he had been eating ice-cream, especially after she had told him no.

As Madam Malkin handed the old woman a new set of robes for the chubby boy to put on, she turned to Sam and Harry.

"Hogwarts?"

"Yes," said Lily to Madam Malkin - a plump woman who had her white hair up in a bun, wore a pink thigh length dress with a pair of ankle banglets and a pair of slightly heeled pink shoes - who nodded, ushering Sam into one room where her assistant was working and taking Harry into the opposite room.

The assistant took Sam's measurements before turning and heading out onto the shop floor, she was gone a mere five minutes, before she returned with a set of robes for Sam to try on; he slipped into them easily and felt at ease in them. They felt so much better than his snug clothes at home.

"Perfect," the assistant nodded, and Sam took off the robe; he handed it back. "Would you like duplicates?"

"Yes," said Sam.

The woman nodded and disappeared out onto the shop floor once more, Sam quickly followed after her, panting as he tried to keep up. His mother often complained about his weight, but he had never seen it as an issue; it made him different from Harry, and that was good. He watched as the woman behind the counter duplicated his robes and then packed them away.

Once he had paid and turned back to his parents, package under his arm, Harry joined them, carrying a package of his own.

* * *

_Reviews are like Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans. They come in different flavours. Some you like, some you don't, but you eat them anyway. Review please._


	3. Chapter 3

**Samuel Potter**

**The Hogwarts Years**

**By KingdomHeartsNerd**

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**Disclaimer:** _Harry Potter, all related concepts and anything you recognise do not belong to me, I am merely borrowing them to bring you this story - and for my own personal enjoyment - as they actually belong to the awesomeness that is J.K. Rowling. Any OC's and things you do not recognise, however, are copyrighted to me, KingdomHeartsNerd._

**Rating:** _K_

**Pairings:** _N/A_

**Genre:** _Adventure/Friendship/Family/Drama_

**Warnings:** _Please do not flame me for anything. I really do not care what the flamers have to say and if you don't like this story, then why in the name of Merlin's saggy left butt cheek are you reading it? Go and do something else instead of wasting the precious time of both of us._

**Summary: **_We all know the story of how Harry Potter destroyed the Dark Lord; but what about Sam Potter? Harry Potter's younger twin brother who played a vital role in the destruction of Voldemort? Join Harry and Sam as they embark on the adventure of a lifetime, making friends and enemies... and maybe... a little romance?_

**Dedicated To: **_Everyone who has reviewed - if I listed you all, like I was doing, the list would eventually be longer than the chapter, so I'll do it this way. Your reviews mean the world to me and I hope that you all remain loyal reviewers as this story continues._

**Shout Outs: **_Shout outs to everyone who favourited this story - if I thanked you all the list would be huge, so I'll do it this way._

**Thank You:** _Thank you to xXxKaraBeckerCutterxXx for believing I could do this. If you like this story, show her some love and review this story and either (or all) of her Harry Potter Stories: The Dark Lord's Downfall and the Muggleborn Witches Series._

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**Chapter III**

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**September 1st, 1991**

A month ago Sam had recieved his Hogwarts letter, and now, still unable to actually believe that it was happening, he was boarding the train with his twin brother, Harry, ready to start his first year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, but before that could happen, Sam found that he was being hugged to the brink of death by his mother, who had thrown her arms around him the moment the warning whistle on the Hogwarts Express had blown.

"Mum!" he moaned, "People are watching!"

"Sorry, sorry," Lily sniffed, and pulled away, though she was still crouching at his height. "Two of my babies are off to Hogwarts," she sniffed, wiped her eyes and then gave him a stern look. "If I hear from Professor McGonagall saying that you've ripped your robes or broken a chair, you will be in trouble young man; no over eating, alright? You've already gained more weight since we got you fitted for your robes and I'll be squeezing you into those jeans at home when you return for Christmas, if you can't fit, you're grounded all summer."

"Yes, Mum!" He whined, he had every intention of stuffing himself at Hogwarts. Who wouldn't with all of that food there? He would just have to use an expansion charm on his jeans during the holidays, although he would never tell his mother that. "Now, we've got to go, or we're going to miss the train!"

Lily sniffed again, planted several wet sloppy kisses onto the foreheads of both sons, allowed them to hug their siblings and father, and let them go to the train, which Harry, being a good deal lighter than his increasingly corpulent brother, reached first, and clambered up the steps; once he was on board, he took off at a sprint, disappearing down the corridor before his brother had even boarded.

Sam looked around for a moment and started down the train in the opposite direction; he passed the heir to the Macmillan Family - a blonde pompous fat boy with pudgy hands - who was deep in conversation with a pink red faced pigtailed girl; he passed a tall, burly lad with a Scottish accent with a little difficulty as he had had to suck in his gut to wriggle past, this had made the burly lad look slightly worried; he passed a bushy haired girl who was carrying a thick set of books, until finally he reached his destination.

The compartment, at the very end of the train, housed only one other person. A short and chubby round-faced boy with blond hair. Sam recognized him instantly as Neville Franklin Longbottom, a close and personal friend and the boy from Diagon Alley.

"Hey, Nev." Sam greeted, sitting opposite Neville and smiling to the boy; Neville, shy, timid and not one to pick a fight, gave a slight smile in reply. "Ready for Hogwarts?"

"Yeah." Neville replied, sadly. "But I've lost my toad; Great Uncle Algie gave him to me!"

"Oh, don't worry." Sam began "He'll show up soon; the coaches are searched before the train leaves. When they find him they'll bring him down to the school - don't worry; our belongings are brought up to the school, remember? He'll be fine - and your uncle won't be any the wiser. Now, where's the lady with the trolley, I'm starving?" His stomach rumbled as if to back up his point.

"Yeah," Agreed Neville, his chubby stomach rumbling too. "I'm a bit hungry too; I was too excited to eat breakfast this morning!"

As if on cue, the lady with the trolley appeared in the doorway; having restocked her trolley, she was ready to serve. "Anything from the trolley dears?" She inquired.

Sam got up, grunting a little due to the effort it took, and waddled to the trolley; he reached into his pocket with a lot of difficulty and pulled out the galleons he had stolen from Harry's desk drawer before they had set off and handed them to the lady.

"We'll take the lot, thanks."

"Very well dears," Replied the woman, handing the tray to Sam; he tipped the tray, so everything slid onto the chair and gave the tray back to the lady. She closed the door and walked off.

Sam handed a pumpkin pasty to Neville as he bit down hard into a thick bar of chocolate and moaned in delight as the sugary sweet substance burst through his tastebuds; he swallowed as Neville shook his head at the Pumpkin Pasty.

"No thanks." He protested, placing a hand to his chubby midsection, "Gran says I'm too fat already; you saw me struggling to get into those robes in Diagon Alley - my dad would've fitted into them and she was terribly upset that I couldn't. Dad said it was alright, so did Mum, but, still... You can have the Pumpkin Pasty."

"Everyone gains a little weight at Hogwarts, Neville." Sam assured him, pushing the Pasty to him, "Every student does - go on, take it."

"Well...?"

"Go on. It'll get you ready for the feast; it'll fill you up a bit so you won't eat as much - you won't have to worry about getting fat then, will you? You'll already be full."

Neville took the Pasty with a little trepidation and raised it to his lips before taking a bite; a few moments later, he'd shovelled it into his mouse, chewed it and swallowed, before picking up a second.

"You're right." He began, putting the second to his lips and patting his stomach. "Everyone puts on a few at Hogwarts; I'll be the same as everyone else."

As the train pulled into Hogsmeade Station an hour later, Sam and Neville, both feeling life stuffed chickens from having eaten every last drop of food that Sam had bought, managed to clamber to their feet, change into their robes (Sam's feeling a little more snug than he'd have liked), pick up their wands and headed towards the station, Neville groaning in pain from having eaten so much.

"Firs' years, gather round! Firs' years!"

Sam waddled over to Hagrid - the giant of a man who a friend of the family and was calling for the first years - and got into line next to Harry as they headed down towards the lake.

"Four to a boat!" Called Hagrid, getting into the boat at the front which he filled all by himself; Harry, a tall, red haired boy, Neville and Sam all got into a boat and the boats all set off.

"You'll get your first sign o' 'Ogwarts in a minute!" Hagrid informed them "Mind Yer 'eads!"

Sam failed to duck, as he had been too focused on his rumbling stomach and received a hard thump to the head. Neville snorted into his hand and Sam swatted him.

They clambered from the boats as they reached the edge of the shore of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry; the boat that Sam had been in bounced up several inches and Neville tripped over his feet again.

Hagrid raised a large hand and knocked on the door.

The door swung open at once. A tall, black-haired witch in emerald-green robes stood there. She had a very stern face and Sam gulped in fear; she looked like someone who was not someone to cross and looked terrifyingly scary.

"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," said Hagrid.

"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here."

She pulled the door wide. The entrance hall was so big you could have fit the whole of the Potter Manor in it. The stone walls were lit with flaming torches like the ones at Gringotts, the ceiling was too high to make out, and a magnificent marble staircase facing them led to the upper floors.

They followed Professor McGonagall across the flagged stone floor. Sam could hear the drone of hundreds of voices from a doorway to the right — the rest of the school must already be here — but Professor McGonagall showed the first years into a small, empty chamber off the hall. They crowded in, standing rather closer together than they would usually have done, peering about nervously.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," said Professor McGonagall. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room. The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rulebreaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours. The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting."

Her eyes lingered for a moment on Neville's cloak, which was fastened under his left ear, and on the tall red haired boy's smudged nose.

Harry nervously tried to flatten his hair - Sam knew this would be impossible and turned away, gently pulling at his robes that had become a little more snug than he'd have liked.

"I shall return when we are ready for you," said Professor McGonagall. "Please wait quietly."

She left the chamber. Harry swallowed.

"How exactly do they sort us into houses?" he asked the tall red haired boy.

"Some sort of test, I think. Fred said it hurts a lot, but I think he was joking."

Sam's heart gave a horrible jolt. A test? In front of the whole school? But he didn't know any magic yet — what on earth would he have to do? What on earth would Harry do and how could he outshine him? He hadn't expected something like this the moment they arrived.

He looked around anxiously and saw that everyone else looked terrified, too. No one was talking much except the bushy haired girl he'd passed on the train, who was whispering very fast about all the spells she'd learned and wondering which one she'd need.

Sam tried hard not to listen to her. He'd never been more nervous, never, not even when he'd burst out of his jeans when the Potter's were visting the Dursleys when he was eight.

He kept his eyes fixed on the door. Any second now, Professor McGonagall would come back and lead him to his doom.

Then something happened that made him jump about a foot in the air — several people behind him screamed, Neville included.

"What the —?"

He gasped; the people around him gasped too. About twenty ghosts had just streamed through the back wall. Pearly-white and slightly transparent, they glided across the room talking to one another and hardly glancing at the first years. They seemed to be arguing.

What looked like a fat little monk was saying: "Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him a second chance —"

"My dear Friar, haven't we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all a bad name and you know, he's not really even a ghost — I say, what are you all doing here?" A ghost wearing a ruff and tights had suddenly noticed the first years.

Nobody answered.

"New students!" said the Fat Friar, smiling around at them. "About to be Sorted, I suppose?"

A few people nodded mutely.

"Hope to see you in Hufflepuff!" said the Friar. "My old house, you know."

"Move along now," said a sharp voice. "The Sorting Ceremony's about to start."

Professor McGonagall had returned. One by one, the ghosts floated away through the opposite wall.

"Now, form a line," Professor McGonagall told the first years, "and follow me."

Feeling oddly as though his legs had turned to lead, Harry got into line behind a boy with sandy hair, and Sam got into line behind him, with the tall read haired boy behind him, and they walked - or in Sam's case, waddled - out of the chamber, back across the hall, and through a pair of double doors into the Great Hall.

Sam had never even imagined such a strange and splendid place - Potter Manor was huge, but didn't even rival this.

It was lit by thousands and thousands of candles that were floating in midair over four long tables, where the rest of the students were sitting. These tables were laid with glittering golden plates and goblets. At the top of the hall was another long table where the teachers were sitting. Professor McGonagall led the first years up here, so that they came to a halt in a line facing the other students, with the teachers behind them. The hundreds of faces staring at them looked like pale lanterns in the flickering candlelight. Dotted here and there among the students, the ghosts shone misty silver. Mainly to avoid all the staring eyes, Sam looked upward and gasped as he saw a velvety black ceiling dotted with stars. He heard the bushy haired girl whisper, "Its bewitched to look like the sky outside. I read about it in _Hogwarts, A History_."

It was hard to believe there was a ceiling there at all, and that the Great Hall didn't simply open on to the heavens.

He quickly looked down again as Professor McGonagall silently placed a four-legged stool in front of the first years. On top of the stool she put a pointed wizard's hat. This hat was patched and frayed and extremely dirty. There was no way his mum would have let it in the house.

_Maybe they had to try and get a rabbit out of it_, Sam thought wildly, feeling rather sick, _that seemed the sort of thing to use it for_ — noticing that everyone in the hall was now staring at the hat, he stared at it, too. For a few seconds, there was complete silence. Then the hat twitched. A rip near the brim opened wide like a mouth — and the hat began to sing:

_"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,_

_But don't judge on what you see,_

_I'll eat myself if you can find_

_A smarter hat than me._

_You can keep your bowlers black,_

_Your top hats sleek and tall,_

_For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat_

_And I can cap them all._

_There's nothing hidden in your head_

_The Sorting Hat can't see,_

_So try me on and I will tell you_

_Where you ought to be._

_You might belong in Gryffindor,_

_Where dwell the brave at heart,_

_Their daring, nerve, and chivalry_

_Set Gryffindors apart;_

_You might belong in Hufflepuff,_

_Where they are just and loyal,_

_Those patient Hufflepuffs are true_

_And unafraid of toil;_

_Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,_

_if you've a ready mind,_

_Where those of wit and learning,_

_Will always find their kind;_

_Or perhaps in Slytherin_

_You'll make your real friends,_

_Those cunning folk use any means_

_To achieve their ends._

_So put me on! Don't be afraid!_

_And don't get in a flap!_

_You're in safe hands (though I have none)_

_For I'm a Thinking Cap!"_

The whole hall burst into applause as the hat finished its song. It bowed to each of the four tables and then became quite still again.

"So we've just got to try on the hat!" The red haired tall boy whispered to Harry. "I'll kill Fred, he was going on about wrestling a troll."

Sam smiled weakly. Thank goodness; trying on the hat was a lot better than having to do a spell, but he did wish they could have tried it on without everyone watching. The hat seemed to be asking rather a lot; he didn't feel brave or quick-witted or any of it at the moment.

If only the hat had mentioned a house for people who felt a bit queasy, that would have been the one for him - though he may have felt queasy due to how much he had eaten on the train.

Professor McGonagall now stepped forward holding a long roll of parchment.

"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," she said. "Abbott, Hannah!"

The pink-faced girl with blonde pigtails from the train stumbled out of line, put on the hat, which fell right down over her eyes, and sat down. A moments pause —

_"HUFFLEPUFF!" _shouted the hat.

The table on the right cheered and clapped as Hannah went to sit down at the Hufflepuff table. Harry saw the ghost of the Fat Friar waving merrily at her.

"Black, William!", the god-brother of Sam, Harry, Edward and Rose, went to Gryffindor within seconds of the hat touching his head; the table on the far left exploded with cheers at the new first year Gryffindor. He whooped with joy and almost ran to the table.

"Bones, Susan!"

_"HUFFLEPUFF!" _shouted the hat again, and Susan scuttled off to sit next to Hannah.

"Boot, Terry!"

A broadly built brown haired boy with blue eyes moved forward; he sat on the stool and the hat cried _"RAVENCLAW!"_

The table second from the left clapped this time; several Ravenclaws stood up to shake hands with Terry as he joined them.

"Brocklehurst, Mandy" - a skinny average looking girl - went to Ravenclaw too, but "Brown, Lavender" - a blonde buxom girl - became another Gryffindor, and the table on the far left exploded with cheers again; Sam could see the tall red haired boy's two twin brothers catcalling.

"Bulstrode, Millicent" - a disgustingly ugly girl - then became a Slytherin.

Perhaps it was his imagination, after all he'd heard about Slytherin from his father, but he thought they looked like an unpleasant lot.

He was starting to feel definitely sick now. He remembered being picked for teams during gym at his old school. He had always been last to be chosen, mostly because of his size and his inability to get along with many people.

"Finch-Fletchley, Justin!"

_"HUFFLEPUFF!"_

Sometimes, Sam noticed, the hat shouted out the house at once, but at others it took a little while to decide. "Finnigan, Seamus," the sandy-haired boy next to Harry in the line, sat on the stool for almost a whole minute before the hat declared him a Gryffindor.

"Granger, Hermione!"

The bushy haired girl almost ran to the stool and jammed the hat eagerly on her head.

_"GRYFFINDOR!" _shouted the hat. The tall red haired boy groaned.

A horrible thought struck Sam, as horrible thoughts always do when you're very nervous. What if he wasn't chosen at all? What if he just sat there with the hat over his eyes for ages, until Professor McGonagall jerked it off his head and said there had obviously been a mistake and he'd better get back on the train? God, he'd be an even bigger disappointment to his family if that happened. No. He _had_ to be picked. He _had _to be. Harry would be, so he had to be.

"Lestrange, Torian!" went to Slytherin after merely a few seconds of having the hat on his head.

When Neville Longbottom, the boy who kept losing his toad, was called, he fell over on his way to the stool; Sam couldn't help but shake his head exasperatedly.

The hat took a long time to decide with Neville.

When it finally shouted, _"GRYFFINDOR!"_ Neville ran off still wearing it, and had to jog back amid gales of laughter to give it to "MacDougal, Morag."

A skinny, pale blonde boy, who Sam noticed, had a twin in the line too, swaggered forward when his name "Malfoy, Draco!" was called and got his wish at once: the hat had barely touched his head when it screamed, _"SLYTHERIN!"_

Malfoy went to join his friends Crabbe and Goyle, looking pleased with himself.

There weren't many people left now. Another "Malfoy", this one called Tiberius, who was black haired and grey eyed and went to Slytherin, like Draco, "Moon, Lily", a skittery little girl, who went to Hufflepuff; "Nott, Theodore", a rabbity, weedy looking boy, who went to Slytherin, as did the average looking "Parkinson, Pansy"; then a pair of twin asian girls in Saris, "Patil, Padma" who went to Ravenclaw and "Patil, Pavarti" who went to Gryffindor; then "Perks, Sally-Anne" who went to Ravenclaw, and then, at last —

"Potter, Harry!"

As Harry stepped forward, whispers suddenly broke out like little hissing fires all over the hall.

"_Potter_, did she say?"

"_The _Harry Potter?"

Harry's pale, skinny face disappeared underneath the hat and everything went quiet; everyone waited. It took five minutes of the hat and Harry arguing, given by how much Harry's mouth was moving under the hat, for the hat to call _"GRYFFINDOR!"_

Harry took off the hat and walked shakily toward the Gryffindor table. He was so relieved to have been chosen and not put in Slytherin, he hardly noticed that he was getting the loudest cheer yet. A Prefect, obviously one of the tall red haired boy's family, judging by his hair, got up and shook his hand vigorously, while his two twin brothers yelled, "We got Potter! We got Potter!"

Harry sat down opposite the ghost in the ruff he'd seen earlier. The ghost patted his arm, giving Harry the sudden, horrible feeling he'd just plunged it into a bucket of ice-cold water.

Professor McGonagall smiled for a moment and the called "Potter, Samuel!"

Sam gave an audible gulp, took a deep breath and began to waddle foward "Ok, Sam, just relax." He said to himself "It'll be fine - you'll go to Gryffindor. If Harry can get there then you can too."

He sat on the stoll, which creaked alarmingly and the hat slipped over his head.

"Hmm." Began a small voice, causing Sam to jump "Hmm. Hmm. You're not brave and you're certainly not loyal to your brother - though there is a spark of rebellion buried deep within. There are no brains in that head of yours though, no - you prefer food to thoughts. Perhaps Hufflepuff?"

_NO! _thought Sam, horrified _No, I have to go to Gryffindor; Harry went there and my entire family have been there!_ That wasn't technically true - his grandmother, Dorea, had been a Slytherin - but at this moment, he didn't care_ I have to be there too! I'm better than Harry and he got there!_

"Gryffindor?" Inquired the Hat "Well, you do have the rebellious streak that your father had... but it's buried deep. Hmm, maybe Gryffindor is an option for you?"

_Please Gryffindor, please Gryffindor, please Gryffindor! _thought Sam deperately, clutching the parts of the stool that weren't covered by his fat frame _Please..._

"I'm still unsure. Let me have another look inside. Hmm. No. No. Not Slytherin. _Definitely_ not Ravenclaw. And... I'm afraid, not Gryffindor,"; before Sam could protest, the hat cried, _"HUFFLEPUFF!"_

The last word was yelled to the hall and Sam visibly slumped; at the Gryffindor Table, Harry's jaw dropped. The hat was taken from Sam's head and he waddled to his new table, head hung low, eyes not meeting Harry.

And now there were only four people left to be sorted. "Thomas, Dean," a Black boy even taller than than the red haired tall boy, joined Harry and Sam at the Gryffindor table.

"Turpin, Lisa," became a Ravenclaw and then it was the tall red haired boy's turn. He was pale green by now.

Sam saw Harry cross his fingers under the table and a second later the hat had shouted, _"GRYFFINDOR!"_

Harry clapped loudly with the rest as Ron collapsed into the chair next to him.

"Well done, Ron, excellent," said what Sam assumed was his eldest brother pompously across Harry as "Zabini, Blaise," was made a Slytherin. Professor McGonagall rolled up her scroll and took the Sorting Hat away.

Sam looked down at his empty gold plate. He had only just realized how hungry he was. The pumpkin pasties seemed ages ago. His stomach rumbled and Harry looked at him from across room as if to say _'control yourself!'_

Albus Dumbledore had gotten to his feet. He was beaming at the students, his arms opened wide, as if nothing could have pleased him more than to see them all there. He was tall and thin, with silver hair and beard so long that they could be tucked into his belt. He had a very long and crooked nose that looked as if it had been broken at least twice; his eyes were a brilliant, sould-piercing shade of blue, and twinkled with kindness and mischief.

"Welcome," he said. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!" He sat back down. Everybody clapped and cheered. Sam didn't laugh; he had found it funny, but he'd noticed some of the stupid people on the other tables laughing and didn't want to fall in with those.

"Is he — a bit mad?" he asked the Prefect sat near him.

"Mad?" said the Prefect airily. "He's a genius! Best wizard in the world! But he is a bit mad, yes. Potatoes, Sam?"

Sam's mouth fell open, his stomach gave an almighty rumble and he began drooling. No-one would have known that he had stuffed himself to bursting point on the train if they had just looked at him now.

The dishes in front of him were now piled with food. He had never seen so many things he liked to eat on one table: roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops and lamb chops, scrammlbed egg, poached egg, boiled egg, fried egg, sausages, bacon and steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, fries, Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, gravy, ketchup, and, for some strange reason, peppermint humbugs.

His parents had never exactly starved Sam, but he'd never been allowed to eat as much as he liked. His mum had always prevented him from eating as much as he had liked - he would have been a lot fatter if he'd been able to eat how much he had liked - so, he piled his plate with a bit of everything except the peppermints - which he was allergic too - and began to eat. It was all delicious.

"That does look good," said the fat little monk sadly, watching Sam stuff an entire steak into his mouth. The monk had short brown hair, which he wore with a small tonsure. At first sight a monk, he was dressed in a habit held by a rope belt. He was fat and short, and carried a mug with him.

"'an't 'ou —?"

"I haven't eaten for nearly five hundred years," said the ghost. "I don't need to, of course, but one does miss it. I don't think I've introduced myself? The Fat Friar at your service. Resident ghost of Hufflepuff Basement. So — new Hufflepuffs! I hope you're going to help us win the house championship this year? Hufflepuffs have never gone so long without winning. Slytherin have got the cup six years in a row! The Bloody Baron's becoming almost unbearable — he's the Slytherin ghost."

Sam looked over at the Slytherin table and saw a horrible ghost sitting there, with blank staring eyes, a gaunt face, and robes stained with silver blood.

He was right next to Draco Malfoy who, Sam was pleased to see, didn't look too pleased with the seating arrangements.

"How did he get covered in blood?" asked Ernest Macmillan - the pompous portly boy from the train, who was commonly known as Ernie - with great interest.

"I've never asked," said The Fat Friar, quickly, silencing Ernie.

When everyone had eaten as much as they could - which in Sam's case was nine helpings of everything - the remains of the food faded from the plates, leaving them sparkling clean as before. A moment later the desserts appeared. Blocks of ice cream in every flavor you could think of, apple pies, treacle tarts, chocolate éclairs and jam doughnuts, trifle, strawberries, Jell-O, rice pudding...

As Sam scooped ten chocolate eclairs into his mouth, the talk turned to their families.

"I'm half-and-half," said Hannah Abbott. "My mum's a Muggle and Dad's a wizard; they met when he accidentally dropped a bowl of water onto her head."

The others laughed.

"What about you, Justin?" said Ernie.

"Muggleborn," he said, "I was due to go to Eton instead."

Sam, who was starting to feel warm and sleepy and stuffed to the gills, looked up at the High Table again. Hagrid was drinking deeply from his goblet. Professor McGonagall was talking to Professor Dumbledore. A man, in his absurd turban, was talking to a teacher with greasy black hair, a hooked nose, and sallow skin.

It happened very suddenly. The hook-nosed teacher looked past the man's turban, straight across the hall, and into Harry's eyes — and a sharp, hot pain shot across the scar on Harry's forehead.

_"Ouch!"_ Harry clapped a hand to his head.

"What is it?" Sam heard the red haired boy next to Harry ask.

"N-nothing."

The pain had gone as quickly as it had come. Harder for Sam to shake off was the feeling he had gotten from the teacher's look — a feeling that he didn't like Harry at all.

"Who's that teacher talking to man in the turban?" he asked the Prefect next to him.

"The man in the turban is Professor Quirrell. No wonder he's looking so nervous, that's Professor Snape. He teaches Potions, but he doesn't want to — everyone knows he's after Quirrell's job. Knows an awful lot about the Dark Arts, Snape."

"Yes," replied Sam, disdainfully, "I've heard; dad speaks of him alot. They loathed each other at school."

At last, the desserts too disappeared - Sam had eaten more than he had ever eaten before and had just finished his twelfth helping - and Professor Dumbledore got to his feet again. The hall fell silent.

"Ahem — just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you. First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well."

Dumbledore's twinkling eyes flashed in the direction of the the two red haired twins.

"I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors. Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch. And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."

Harry laughed, but he was one of the few students in the hall who did; Sam looked rather nervous.

"He's not serious?" Sam muttered to the Prefect.

"Must be," said the Prefect, frowning at Dumbledore. "It's odd, because he usually gives us a reason why we're not allowed to go somewhere — the forest's full of dangerous beasts, everyone knows that. I do think he might have told us prefects, at least."

"And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!" cried Dumbledore. Harry noticed that the other teachers' smiles had become rather fixed.

Dumbledore gave his wand a little flick, as if he was trying to get a fly off the end, and a long golden ribbon flew out of it, which rose high above the tables and twisted itself, snakelike, into words.

"Everyone pick their favorite tune," said Dumbledore, "and off we go!"

And the school bellowed:

"_Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts_

_Teach us something please,_

_Whether we be old and bald_

_Or young with scabby knees,_

_Our heads could do with filling_

_With some interesting stuff,_

_For now they're bare and full of air,_

_Dead flies and bits of fluff,_

_So teach us things worth knowing,_

_Bring back what we've forgot,_

_just do your best, we'll do the rest,_

_And learn until our brains all rot."_

Everybody finished the song at different times. At last, only the red haired twins were left singing along to a very slow funeral march.

Dumbledore conducted their last few lines with his wand and when they had finished, he was one of those who clapped loudest.

"Ah, music," he said, wiping his eyes. "A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!"

The Gryffindor first years followed Percy through the chattering crowds, out of the Great Hall, and up the marble staircase, while the Hufflepuff students followed the Prefect down the corridor, down a set of steps and along a corridor; Sam's legs were like lead again, but only because he was so tired and full of food. He was too sleepy even to be surprised that the people in the portraits along the corridors whispered and pointed as they passed, or that twice the Prefect led them through doorways hidden behind sliding panels and hanging tapestries.

They climbed down more staircases, yawning and dragging their feet, and Sam was just wondering how much farther they had to go - for his feet were hurting rather a lot - when they came to a sudden halt.

"I," began the Prefect - who was blonde, pale and fat - turning to face them, "am Prefect Gabriel Truman, and I'm delighted to welcome you to Hufflepuff House. Our emblem is the badger, an animal that is often underestimated, because it lives quietly until attacked, but which, when provoked, can fight off animals much larger than itself, including wolves. Our house colours are yellow and black, and our common room lies one floor below the ground, on the same corridor as the kitchens."

Sam's stomach rumbled, but Gabriel continued as if it hadn't, "Now, there are a few things you should know about Hufflepuff house. First of all, let's deal with a perennial myth about the place, which is that we're the least clever house. This is wrong. Hufflepuff is certainly the least boastful house, but we've produced just as many brilliant witches and wizards as any other. Want proof? Look up Grogan Stump, one of the most popular Ministers for Magic of all time. He was a Hufflepuff – as were the successful Ministers Artemesia Lufkin and Dugald McPhail. Then there's the world authority on magical creatures, Newt Scamander; Bridget Wenlock, the famous thirteenth-century Arithmancer who first discovered the magical properties of the number seven, and Hengist of Woodcroft, who founded the all-wizarding village of Hogsmeade, which lies very near Hogwarts School. Hufflepuffs all." He smiled for a moment, looked around, to make sure no-one but the new Hufflepuffs were listening.

"So, as you can see, we've produced more than our fair share of powerful, brilliant and daring witches and wizards, but, just because we don't shout about it, we don't get the credit we deserve," continued Gabriel, smiling again, "Ravenclaws, in particular, assume that any outstanding achiever must have come from their house. I got into big trouble during my third year for duelling a Ravenclaw prefect who insisted that Bridget Wenlock had come from his house, not mine. I should have got a week of detentions, but Professor Sprout let me off with a warning and a box of coconut ice. Hufflepuffs are trustworthy and loyal. We don't shoot our mouths off, but cross us at your peril; like our emblem, the badger, we will protect ourselves, our friends and our families against all-comers. Nobody intimidates us. However, it's true that Hufflepuff is a bit lacking in one area. We've produced the fewest Dark wizards of any house in this school. Of course, you'd expect Slytherin to churn out evil-doers, seeing as they've never heard of fair play and prefer cheating over hard work any day, not one of them can cast a Patronus, after all, but even Gryffindor - the house we get on best with - has produced a few dodgy characters," he chuckled.

"What else do you need to know?" he continued, "Oh yes, the entrance to the common room is concealed in a stack of large barrels in a nook on the right hand side of the kitchen corridor. Or, at this moment, behind me. Tap the barrel two from the bottom, middle of the second row, in the rhythm of 'Helga Hufflepuff', and the lid will swing open. We are the only house at Hogwarts that also has a repelling device for would-be intruders. If the wrong lid is tapped, or if the rhythm of the tapping is wrong, the illegal entrant is doused in vinegar. You will hear other houses boast of their security arrangements, but it so happens that in more than a thousand years, the Hufflepuff common room and dormitories have never been seen by outsiders. Like badgers, we know exactly how to lie low – and how to defend ourselves. Once you've opened the barrel, crawl inside and along the passageway behind it, and you will emerge into the cosiest common room of them all. It is round and earthy and low-ceilinged; it always feels sunny, and its circular windows have a view of rippling grass and dandelions. There is a lot of burnished copper about the place, and many plants, which either hang from the ceiling or sit on the windowsills."

By now, several of the first years were watching intently, so Gabriel moved onto the last stage of his speech.

"Our Head of house, Professor Pomona Sprout, is Head of Herbology, and she brings the most interesting specimens - some of which dance and talk - to decorate our room – one reason why Hufflepuffs are often very good at Herbology. Our overstuffed sofas and chairs are upholstered in yellow and black, and our dormitories are reached through round doors in the walls of the common room. Copper lamps cast a warm light over our four-posters, all of which are covered in patchwork quilts, and copper bed warmers hang on the walls, should you have cold feet. Our house ghost is the friendliest of them all: the Fat Friar. You'll recognise him easily enough; he's plump and wears monk's robes, and he's very helpful if you get lost or are in any kind of trouble. I think that's nearly everything. I must say, I hope some of you are good Quidditch players. Hufflepuff hasn't done as well as I'd like in the Quidditch tournament lately. You should sleep comfortably. We're protected from storms and wind down in our dormitories; we never have the disturbed nights those in the towers sometimes experience. And once again: congratulations on becoming a member of the friendliest, most decent and most tenacious house of them all."

With that, he opened the Common Room and led them inside - which was exactly as he described it - and then turned back to them. "Now, the boys dormitories are on the right, the girls on the left; I suggest those of you that are of the portlier stature - like me - take the one furthest away, you may need it in the long run, especially with the way some of you ate this evening. You'll also need to be in good shape for quidditch."

Sam couldn't prevent the red blush from filling his cheeks as Gabriel said, "Now, night-night!" and left to his own dormitory.

With that, he left, allowing everyone to take the bed they wanted. Sam, Ernie, Justin, a snob of a boy called Zacharias Smith, and a stocky, muscular boy called Wayne Hopkins, all took the room nearest the Common Room.

Unlike his brother, who had a terrible nights sleep and awoke sweating from nightmares, Sam slept like a baby and awoke the next morning with his stomach roaring with hunger.


	4. Chapter 4

**Samuel Potter**

**The Hogwarts Years**

**By KingdomHeartsNerd**

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**Disclaimer:** _Harry Potter, all related concepts and anything you recognise do not belong to me, I am merely borrowing them to bring you this story - and for my own personal enjoyment - as they actually belong to the awesomeness that is J.K. Rowling. Any OC's and things you do not recognise, however, are copyrighted to me, KingdomHeartsNerd._

**Rating:** _K_

**Pairings:** _N/A_

**Genre:** _Adventure/Friendship/Family/Drama_

**Warnings:** _Please do not flame me for anything. I really do not care what the flamers have to say and if you don't like this story, then why in the name of Merlin's saggy left butt cheek are you reading it? Go and do something else instead of wasting the precious time of both of us._

**Summary: **_We all know the story of how Harry Potter destroyed the Dark Lord; but what about Sam Potter? Harry Potter's younger twin brother who played a vital role in the destruction of Voldemort? Join Harry and Sam as they embark on the adventure of a lifetime, making friends and enemies... and maybe... a little romance?_

**Dedicated To: **_Everyone who has reviewed - if I listed you all, like I was doing, the list would eventually be longer than the chapter, so I'll do it this way. Your reviews mean the world to me and I hope that you all remain loyal reviewers as this story continues._

**Shout Outs: **_Shout outs to everyone who favourited this story - if I thanked you all the list would be huge, so I'll do it this way._

**Thank You:** _Thank you to xXxKaraBeckerCutterxXx for believing I could do this. If you like this story, show her some love and review this story and either (or all) of her Harry Potter Stories: The Dark Lord's Downfall and the Muggleborn Witches Series._

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**Chapter IV**

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After breakfast whispers followed Harry from the moment he stepped out of his dormitory; for Sam, who was neither special nor important to Hogwarts and the students, it was a much more peaceful start, though he did have a problem avoiding all the people who had doubled back to look at his brother. As he was trying to find his way to class, he wished they wouldn't.

There were a hundred and forty-two staircases at Hogwarts: wide, sweeping ones; narrow, rickety ones; some that led somewhere different on a Friday; some with a vanishing step halfway up that you had to remember to jump; some that were only stairs on a tuesday and were sliding ramps for the rest of the week. Then there were doors that wouldn't open unless you asked politely, or tickled them in exactly the right place, and doors that weren't really doors at all, but solid walls just pretending, like the one on the fourth floor. It was also very hard to remember where anything was, because it all seemed to move around a lot. The people in the portraits kept going to visit each other, and Sam knew the coats of armor could walk, for the suits of armour in the armoury at Potter Manor could do the same.

The ghosts didn't help, either. It was always a nasty shock when one of them glided suddenly through a door you were trying to open. Nearly Headless Nick was always happy to point new Gryffindors in the right direction and the Fat Friar did the same for the new Huffepuffs, but Peeves the Poltergeist was worth two locked doors, a trick staircase, a torture chamber and a rotten banana if you met him when you were late for class. He would drop wastepaper baskets on your head, pull rugs from under your feet, pelt you with bits of chalk, or sneak up behind you, invisible, grab your nose, and screech, _"GOT YOUR CONK!"_

Even worse than Peeves, if that was possible, was the caretaker, Argus Filch. Harry and Ron, Sam heard from Zacharias Smith - a tall, skinny blond boy with an upturned nose, who was rather unpleasent, pushy, insensitive, critical of Sam's weight, and the heir of Helga Hufflepuff - had apparently managed to get on the wrong side of him on their very first morning. Filch had apparently found them trying to force their way through a door that, unluckily for them, turned out to be the entrance to the out-of-bounds corridor on the third floor. He hadn't believed they were lost, had been sure they were trying to break into it on purpose, and had threatened to lock them in the dungeons when they were rescued by Professor Quirrell, who was passing.

Filch owned a cat called Mrs. Norris, a scrawny, dust-colored creature with bulging, lamp like eyes just like Filch's; most of the students - and several of the teachers - were sure she was his wife who had become stuck in her Animagus form and Filch had not been able to change her back, though this had never been confirmed nor denied by Filch, and his silence just made the rumours spread like wildfire. Mrs. Norris patrolled the corridors alone. Break a rule in front of her, put just one toe out of line, and she'd whisk off for Filch, who'd appear, wheezing, two seconds later. Filch knew the secret passageways of the school better than anyone (except perhaps the Weasley twins) and could pop up as suddenly as any of the ghosts. The students all hated him, and it was the dearest ambition of many to give Mrs. Norris a good kick.

And then, once you had managed to find them, there were the classes themselves. Sam knew there was a lot more to magic than waving your wand and saying a few funny words for he had grown up in a wizarding family, but he did not know how much there truly was.

They had to study the night skies through their telescopes every Wednesday at midnight and learn the names of different stars and the movements of the planets; this often made Sam tired and very cranky Thursday morning. Three times a week they went out to the greenhouses behind the castle to study Herbology, with a dumpy little witch called Professor Sprout who was the Head of House for Hufflepuff, where they learned how to take care of all the strange plants and fungi, and found out what they were used for; for example, Hemlock was used for poison and was not fatal to a human unless more than one ounce of it was taken, something which Poopus le Poopford, a french wizard in the 1600s, had done.

Easily the most boring class was History of Magic, which was the only one taught by a ghost. Professor Binns had been very old indeed - three hundred and six, to be precise - when he had fallen asleep in front of the staff room fire and got up next morning to teach, leaving his body behind him. Binns droned on and on while they scribbled down names and dates, and got Emeric the Evil and Uric the Oddball mixed up; Binns didn't even notice when Amanda Brocklehurst, who was commonly known as Mandy, made her book grow a pair of legs and do a jig on the table.

Professor Flitwick, the Charms teacher, was a tiny little wizard with goblin ancestry who had to stand on a pile of books to see over his desk. At the start of their first class he took the roll call, and when he reached Sam's name he continued blindly on, unlike the previous lesson when he had given an excited squeak at Harry's name and had toppled out of sight.

Professor McGonagall was again different. Sam had been quite right to think she wasn't a teacher to cross. Strict and clever, she gave them a talking-to the moment they sat down in her first class: "Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts," she said. "Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back. You have been warned."

Then she changed her desk into a pig and back again. They were all very impressed and couldn't wait to get started, but soon realized they weren't going to be changing the furniture into animals for a long time. After taking a lot of complicated notes, they were each given a match and started trying to turn it into a needle. By the end of the lesson, only Justin Finch-Flecthley had made any difference to his match; Professor McGonagall showed the class how it had gone all silver and pointy and gave Justin a rare smile which caused Zacharias to smack him.

The class everyone had really been looking forward to was Defense Against the Dark Arts, but Quirrell's lessons turned out to be a bit of a joke. His classroom smelled strongly of garlic, which everyone said was to ward off a vampire he'd met in Romania and was afraid would be coming back to get him one of these days. His turban, he told them, had been given to him by an African prince as a thank-you for getting rid of a troublesome zombie, but they weren't sure they believed this story. For one thing, when Ernie Macmillan asked eagerly to hear how Quirrell had fought off the zombie, Quirrell went pink and started talking about the weather; for another, they had noticed that a funny smell hung around the turban, and the Weasley twins insisted that it was stuffed full of garlic as well, so that Quirrell was protected wherever he went.

Sam was very relieved to find out that he wasn't miles behind everyone else; unlike most wizards, who revealed their magic at seven, Sam hadn't performed major magic until weeks before his tenth birthday, though he had been regularly summoning books from his bookshelf since he was two. There was so much to learn at Hogwarts and lots of people had come from muggle families and had no idea about magic before hand, nor that they were witches and wizards.

Potion's Lesson confirmed to Sam that, despite being from a wizarding Family, he was not that much further ahead than the Muggleborn students. It was made worse by the fact that Professor Snape, a disgustingly ugly hooked nosed and greasy haired professor who hated Harry, seemed to loathe Sam just as much.

The door to the classroom burst open and Professor Severus Snape strode in; reaching the front of the classroom he whirled around to face them, his deep black soulless eyes scanning the class; his voice was a mere whisper, but he seemed to hold the class with ease, as he spoke.

"There will be no foolish wand-waving or silly incantations in this class. As such, I don't expect many of you to appreciate the subtle science and exact art that is potion-making. However, for those select few who possess the predisposition, I can teach you how to bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses. I can tell you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even put a stopper in death. Potter!" he snapped, catching sight of Sam and remembering him from the sorting ceremony, "Where would I find a beazor?"

Justin Finch-Fletchley's hand shot up, and he was bouncing up and down, almost as if he had wet himself, but Sam frowned, "I don't know, Professor,"

"Like your brother, you didn't even think to open a book, did you? Perhaps, Potter, you'll succeed in Potions when you take your head out of the fridge and put it in a book, rather than stuffing it!"

Sam bristled at the jab at his weight and opened his mouth to reply; Ernie kicked his shin in order to silence him.

"Alright, let's try again; a simple one, for anyone with a brain, at least. Also referred to as Wolfsbane and Monkshood, this plant is extremely poisonous and is shaped somewhat like a monk's cowl, hence one of its names. What, Potter, is the plant I'm referring too?"

Justin bounced up and down in his chair, thrusting his hand into the air. Sam frowned, "Uh... Husine? No, wait...I'm not sure. Is it Belladonna?"

"No, you stupid child!" thundered Snape, swooping down so that he was nose to massive nose with Sam; Justin put his head against his palm and shook his head at Sam's lack of potions knowledge, "It is neither of those! The correct answer, you stupid imbecile, is Aconite! It seems being James Potter's children dilutes the brain cells. How many more of you are there?"

"Two,"

"Merlin, help us," muttered Snape, stalking back to his desk and turning back to the whole class, "Well, why weren't you writing that question down!?"

"You... didn't ask us to, Professor," said Sam. Snape glared evilly at Sam, his face going almost as read as a beetroot; Sam, realising his mistake, yanked his book out of his bag and began writing the question down.

Snape plopped himself down onto the stool by his desk, waved his wand and summoned some questions onto the blackboard.

"Your classmates' idiocy has just lose Hufflepuff five house points. Perhaps you can redeem them by writing these down and answering them," he said; then, moments later, almost as if struck by a second though, he said, "And make sure that the questions and answers are neat; if they are not, I shall be taking one hundred points from Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw."

And, when the class was dismissed an hour later for a free period, Sam knew he had a new enemy in Snape. Thinking off his newfound enemy, he didn't notice when he walked straight into a tall boy with long, thick shiny dark hair, thin lips, heavily-lidded eyes with long eyelashes, and a strong jaw, who dropped his books to the floor.

"Oh, sorry!"

"My fault," said the other boy, crouching and picking his books up, "I wasn't watching where I was going."

"Sam Potter," said Sam, introducing himself as he crouched down and helped the boy pick his books up.

"Lestrange," introduced the boy, "Torian Lestrange."

Sam knew that name, but couldn't think why: "Lestrange? I know that name."

"Most people do - and not for a good reason. I asked Neville for a Quill in Transfiguration earlier and he totally ignored me; I don't blame him - my parents weren't nice people."

It finally struck Sam as to why he knew Torian's surname.

"Torian Lestrange?" he questioned, repeating Torian's name, "Didn't your parents attempt to torture Neville's parents?"

"It's pronounced Lestrawnge - my surname - and yes, they did attempt to torture the Longbottoms," Torian looked rather abashed, "It's... not something I'm proud of."

"I never knew that the Lestranges had offspring," said Sam.

"Yes," replied Torian, "Two of us. My elder brother, Cygnus, is the heir to the family; you'll probably see him soon enough,"

"Tor!" came a male voice from the end of the hallway; Cygnus Lestrange was tall, blonde, hulking and muscular. He sneered at Sam for a moment, then looked back to Torian as he spoke, "Leave the fat Half-blood and come with me. You've got a free period, right? You can study with we Slytherins in our Common Room."

"See you soon, perhaps, Sam?"

"Yeah," he replied, "See you 'round, Torian."

Torian left and, as Ernie, Wayne, Justin and Zacharias reached him, Sam mused that he had gained an enemy and a friend in one day.

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_Reviews are like Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans. They come in different flavours. Some you like, some you don't, but you eat them anyway. Review please._


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